


A Series of Minis

by Oroburos



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Smutlet, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oroburos/pseuds/Oroburos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts from tumblr. Lots of shippy stuff, and some character exploration. </p>
<p>Chapter Six is nsfw</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Value Me (Merribela)

"Daisies, for Daisy," Isabela smirked, and winked, as she handed Merrill the bouquet. Merrill took the flowers, smiling. She took a deep breath of their scent, and made a noise so close to the kind she made while they were ‘frolicking’, that Isabela was almost certain she had done it on purpose. 

They sat together, on the docks. Bare feet dangled in the water as the sun set behind the mountain and set the whole sky aflame. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Isabela recited, wistfully. 

"Is that really true?" Merrill asked, leaning her head on Isabela’s shoulder. "Why do sailors love a red sunset?" 

"Because it means good weather, Kitten," Isabela replied. She pressed a kiss against the high elven forehead, and Merrill wrinkled her nose up at her, cutely. Merrill was dangerously adorable, and Isabela was positive that the elven woman knew it and exploited it. Which only made her more enticing, as far as Isabela was concerned. 

Many moments passed in peaceful silence. Somehow, their hands ended up linked together. When there was nearly no light left, Merrill broke the silence. “‘Bela?” she began, quietly, “When you get your new ship, and leave Kirkwall…could I go with you?” 

Isabela looked down at her, eyebrows raised. 

"I haven’t sailed before," Merrill continued, "but I’m sure I could learn. It could be exciting! Riding the waves, traveling to far-off places…" she smiled up at the pirate queen, "I could keep your cabin clean and warm for you." 

An innocent phrase, but Isabela didn’t miss the mischievous glitter in those wide, green eyes. She smiled back, tilting her head slightly with a look that said I know what you’re doing and I love you for it. “It would be hard work. Up before dawn, swabbing the deck, no slacking off to smell the flowers.” 

"Mm." Merrill sniffed her bouquet again. "It couldn’t be that bad, with you as captain." 

Isabela nudged her gently. “Well, consider yourself added to the crew then.”


	2. Break Me (mwardenstair)

Alistair heard someone screaming, and realized it was himself. He struggled madly against the magical bonds that Morrigan—you traitorous bitch!—had placed around him. Crying out uselessly as the warden, his Warden, ran towards the Archdemon with a sword in his hand and a determined set in his jaw. 

"NO!" Alistair screamed. No one heeded him. No! Don’t leave me! 

The Warden plunged the blade into the dragon’s head, and was engulfed in light. 

Alistair could not stop screaming. His heart, his soul, was shattering. He had dropped his sword and shield and shed his helmet, shed his gauntlets and was almost clawing at the invisible wall that kept him from him, I have to get to him, no! 

The light faded, and so did the magic, pitching him forward, but he didn’t even pause. Slipping in pools of blood, he rushed over to where the body lay prone. Maker, please don’t let him be… 

The Warden lay on his back, blood pooling out his nose and the corners of his mouth. Alistair fell to his knees, choking on sobs. He gathered his Warden into his arms. Held him close, one last time. Why?! Why did you have to be so damned self-sacrificing!? Why? 

He sobbed, and screamed, and rocked back and forth, hoping and praying and willing it to be different. Anything but this. Anything! Maker, why? He buried his face in the Warden’s hair, choking in his grief. 

Please, breathe. Breathe again. Come back to me. Don’t leave me alone. 

There was a hand in his hair. 

Alistair opened his eyes, and looked down, and— 

The Warden’s eyes were open. He was smiling. Blood-covered, barely breathing, and smiling. “Hi,” he breathed. It was the stupidest thing Alistair had ever heard him say. 

He crushed the warden against his chest and laughed, helplessly, through his tears.


	3. Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (first person Merrill character exploration)

It’s a keeper’s job to remember, even the dangerous things. 

Tamlen and Mahariel were my best friends. My only friends. I remember how they would pull me out of lessons, stealing me when I was supposed to be studying. We’d race through the woods, just the three of us, laughing and shouting and scaring off all the animals. 

I had to keep looking for them. We gave up so quickly. Why did we give up so quickly? Because a human told us to? 

I remember, Tamlen and Mahariel and I, all our arms and bodies intertwined, telling our secrets to the night. 

The mirror took them. The mirror could save them. If only I can understand it. If only I can make it work. 

Why won’t the Keeper understand? Why does she turn me away? Why doesn’t she listen? 

She was supposed to take care of me. Supposed to teach me, guide me. 

She treats us all like children who can’t look after themselves. 

Why did she abandon them?


	4. Carver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (a Templar Carver exploration)

Carver was too proud to admit it, but he was almost beginning to regret joining the Templar Order. 

No matter what his brother thought, he hadn’t joined out of spite. Yes, he’d been miffed at being left behind, but this was his decision. He wanted to good. Mages needed help, and they needed someone like him, like Carver, who knew a bit what it was like. He’d heard stories about mages, whose families didn’t understand, who’d been abused and hurt before the Templars came for them. Mages needed someone who understood. Carver wanted to be that person. He’d spent his whole life keeping his brother and sister safe, protecting them. This was…just a different way of doing the same thing. 

He hadn’t thought it would be so hard. 

It wasn’t the training itself—he’d gone through worse in the army. It wasn’t the Chant or the required sermon attendances—though he wasn’t nearly as pious as most of the other recruits (Garret would call them blind, surely), he was Andrastean enough, and words had never bothered him. 

It was the way they weren’t supposed to talk or ask about certain things. It was how, if you questioned something in training, everyone would just go quiet. How, when he walked through the Gallows, the mages would cower away from him with terror in their eyes. 

He hadn’t even done anything to them, hadn’t spoken a single word! And yet, just because he wore the uniform, they were terrified of him.

It was wrong! 

Carver wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it. But… he had to do something. Maybe things were bad in Kirkwall, and maybe he was just one person. But change had to come from somewhere, and nothing good would happen if no one at least tried.


	5. Get Me (fenhawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (featuring trans!hawke)

"Fenris! Help!"

 

Fenris set down the book he had been working through and glanced up at the balcony, beyond which lay Hawke’s chambers. Muffled cursing floated down the staircase. Fenris sighed, stood, and ascended up to the room.

 

There Hawke was, half-dressed and half-trapped in a tight, black band of cloth. “You have it on wrong again,” he admonished.

“Just shut up and help me!”

 

He rolled his eyes and aided the struggling rogue in extracting himself from the confining fabric. Once out, Hawke exhaled in frustration, snatched the cloth back from Fenris’ hands, and glared at it.

 

“Are you certain this is something you want?” Fenris asked.

 

“Yes,” Hawke answered, sharply. He shook the cloth out, folded it, and pulled it once more over his head. This time, it made it past his arms and shoulders.

 

Fenris could not help wincing as Hawke’s chest flattened out beneath the fabric, imagining how it must crush his ribs. “That cannot be comfortable,” he said.

 

Hawke ran his hand over his chest, smooth and almost flat, and a smile spread across his face that made his blue eyes glow. “It is, actually,” he replied. “More than you can imagine.”


	6. Mage Robes (Zevran/M!Surana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (NSFW chapter! ...written while intoxicated... )

"Tell me, my dear Warden," Zevran said suddenly one night at camp, "is it true what they say about those robes you wear?"

 

Surana gave him a look from across the fire. “That depends, what do they say?”

 

The assassin got a peculiarly devilish look to his face. “Many things. The rumors are that the design—the length and loose fit, particularly—is well suited for discretion in performing certain, hm, activities.”

 

"The robes are a method of control," Surana began, and then gave his own devilish grin, "but, yes, they do make hiding certain things from the Templars much easier."

 

"Ah! One can imagine what sort of things that may be hidden in such…voluminous clothing."

 

Surana laughed. “You’ve no idea, Zev.”

 

"Perhaps you should show me, dear Warden…"

 

"Perhaps I will…"

 

And that was how Surana ended up standing out in the woods, leaning on his staff and looking about as nonchalant as it was possible for a mage to be while standing out in the wilderness in the middle of the night. Any casual observer might presume he was just standing watch for the nearby camp, where firelight was slowly dying. 

"You know," the elven mage murmured in a low, oddly heady tone, "this will be quite awkward if we get attacked." 

"It will be a surprise for them!" came a voice from somewhere beneath his robes. 

Surana chuckled. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Zev.” That earned him a nip, sharp teeth on the inside of his thigh, that made him hiss. 

Zevran was, as always, a professional. Even in restricted space, stifled by the folded cloth of the robe, Zev was pushing all Surana’s buttons. Wet heat around him, humming vibration, deep, deep… Soon the mage had his eyes closed, quiet groans spilling out of him. The hand on his staff was tight, white-knuckled. And then Zev added fingers to the mix, probing places the mage had not had probed before—not while he was standing, anyway. He nearly lost control of the high pitched noise that drew out of him. “Zev…” the mage’s voice was, tellingly, trending more towards gravelly than his usual commanding tenor. Below, there was hot breath against sensitive skin, a low chuckle, and pushing in a way that made the mage’s toes curl in his boots, sent sparks up his spine. 

Surana shifted his staff in front of him, gripping with both hands, leaning on it for support. His breath grew ragged, and it was getting difficult to keep himself still and quiet. He was surprised at how his inability to see what Zevran was doing added to the eroticism. Perhaps it was a show of trust… 

His edge was approaching. The mage resisted the urge to move his hips, to push the hidden head between his legs. He bit his lip, thought better of it, didn’t want to bite through it, that would be embarrassing. Zevran pushed and found a spot inside him that made Surana squirm, writhing before he could stop himself. And then, he felt himself slip down Zevran’s throat, the assassin’s face pushed up against him, and that was too much at once. He shook, and plateaued, and through sheer force of will kept his knees from buckling. 

The wetness that was Zev’s tongue cleaned up the last of it. Then the golden-haired assassin climbed out from beneath Surana’s robes, looking lurid and mischievous. “A good test, dear Warden,” he said while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But perhaps a bit more practice is needed?” 

Surana laughed, breathless. “Not right now, Zev.” Then, with a quickness that would put a rogue to shame, the mage grabbed the front of Zevran’s leathers and pulled him into a fierce, demanding kiss. 

The assassin was just beginning to growl, to mold his body to the Warden’s, when Surana pushed him roughly away, grinning wickedly. The mage straightened, smirked, and inclined his head back towards camp. “Go wait in my tent,” he said, the commanding tone back in his voice, “and when my watch is done, I’ll pay you back.” 

Zevran grinned, laughed, and obeyed.


End file.
